Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1887-06-16
MY GRANDFATHER.
From Chambers Journal.

The last remnants Of the dinner had
been removed from the table; the
curtains were drawn across the win
dows; the fire roared up the chimney;
we faced each other in two armchairs,
my grandfather and !. 1t was the
anniversary of his birthday, and l,
his grandson, the only relative he
had left in the world, had spent the
day at his tireside more in pity for his
loneliness than for any love of kind
ness. They said | should inherit the
large fortune he had acquired, none
knew how, but the life of this strange
old man had ever been an enigma to
the few who were intimate with him,
and none could foresee from day to
day in which direction the next SEEM
ing freak OF his folly would lie.
So was dining with him on the
ninetieth anniversary ca his birthday;
and when the repast was finished we
had drawn up the great armchairs,
and in silence | watched the deep
glow Of the freight play upon his
haggard face, as he seemed to search
the inmost depth of the blaze with
his piercing aud outstanding ewes.
His life had been a mystery to those
who had known him; for years he had
lived in that little house with but one
servant, and it was only on anniver-
sarIes OF his birthday that dined at
his table. 1t was on such occasions
as these that ! had learned enough
of the old mans life to know that
some heavy secret lay on his mind,
that some one act in his long span of
existence had marred and scared the
remaining years. The fevered NUT
terlngs, the staring eyes, the long fits
Of abstraction, followed by hoarse
pleading, as if for pity, had told their
tale. Occasional mention, too, of
early days in Paris-of spectacles
there that had dulled the courage of
stoutest hearts, of women and men
dying at the hands OF fanatical Re-
publicans, Of little children falling in
the widespread sacriiice-all those led
me to believe that it was in Paris that
my grandfather had spent his early
years, with Paris and with the past
that his secret lay. More knew not;
more | dared not ask; for | was
always i'll at ease in the company of
this strange old man, whose very &C.
centricities rerelled the least advance.
Would he ever tell me more? was
the question | asked myself that
night; and as watched the quivering
lip and the-tEsmbling eyes. and heard
from time to time the muttered pray
er, | felt that his secret would perish
with him. But | was mistaken, for
suddenly he turned his chair from the
fire. and clutching the arms OF it as il
with determined purpose, he began
to speak in low and solemn voice.
/ In minute | learned that the time
had come; the mystery would be hid
den no longer.
Grandson" he said, 'it Genes TO
every man at certain season TO know
that the end of his life is not far dis
tant, that the day is approaching
when he must face his Maker. When
such season is come to a man, il
behooves him to think of those who
will inherit his possessions when be
is gone. / have thought over tha,
difficult question, and l have made
nv decision. You are my only rel
alive; You will inherit such property
as | possess; but more than this, you
will learn now from me that which nc
doubt has often troubled you, the
secret Of an old mans life. tt BE-.
rlG1 ascAraA va, khia xssi,ht thai lie,